


tiptoe (over me)

by LightningRidgeBlackOpal



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Blow Job, First Time, Hand Job, Hotel Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Teasing, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 19:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningRidgeBlackOpal/pseuds/LightningRidgeBlackOpal
Summary: Ryan wraps a hand around it and Shane gasps, “fuck, Ry-” but Ryan cuts him off, says, “do you know how many times I've thought about this?”He doesn't know, but he can guess.





	tiptoe (over me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abovetheruins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/gifts).



> I hope you like it. <3

tiptoe (over me)

The dawn is slow, late to arrive. He's never been so thankful for daylight savings, because as the clocks rolled back he fell asleep, knowing full well that in the morning they have to catch a flight and the afternoon after that they have to catch another one. He's awake (barely), and enjoying the quiet noise of the room, laying on his back, the television running low in the background, Ryan's gentle breaths and the soft hints that elsewhere in the hotel people are showering. This is one of the nicer rooms they've stayed in. This newest season bringing more viewers and a higher budget, and it all seems up up up from here. Truly, he's never been happier to spend time in abandoned crumbling places. It brought him here, at least, in bed, in the slow dawn.

Last night was one of the most difficult investigations yet for his co-host: a prison, decaying walls, clanging metal. The prison was empty, of course, and yet Ryan had heard a voice, a scream. Shane said it was just an owl or something, at the time, but the more he thinks about it the less sure he is. It certainly wasn’t a ghost, but he’s struggling to explain it away. Ryan was shook up, more than usual at least, so Shane had stopped for some beer on the way back to the hotel and had put on movies to fall asleep to and had joined Ryan on one of the two beds instead of taking his own. He's never minded sharing, especially not with Ryan, so he wasn't put out or anything, but something Ryan had said last night still played at his mind this morning. “I'm sorry I'm always so scared,” he had said, like a damn fool. As if he's the only one afraid here. As if they haven’t been working their way closer and closer together like two stars; Shane certainly feels caught in Ryan’s orbit. It’s like they’re tiptoeing along a precipice. It’s delicate, frighteningly delicate. Shane may not be afraid of ghosts or demons or cryptids, but this? Precarious and human and flesh and blood? Wanting to say something only for the words to die in his throat over and over? This is terrifying.

Ryan rolls over, his arm falling across Shane’s chest and his head burrowing close to his shoulder. It’s nothing. His breaths tickling Shane’s neck, hot and slow and teasing. It’s nothing. The way his dick twitches in his shorts? That might be something, but Shane is doing his best to tell himself: It’s nothing it’s nothing it’s nothing. His mantra, lately.

The alarm won’t go off for another hour. Their flight is in three hours. Shane is perfectly willing to lie still in self-imposed torture until then. His body has other plans. His dick has other plans. From the stiff point pressing against his thigh, even, Ryan’s body seems to have other plans.

So many ways all of this could go. So many ways all of this could have gone. If not for Buzzfeed and if not for Shane getting bored and if not for Ryan fighting for his idea they’d never have met. If not for Buzzfeed and thousands of fans and that damn prison they’d never be here. But they are. Stuck still like a painting; the rising sun painting the room peach, the voices on the television droning softly. Ryan pulling closer in his sleep.

“What are you thinking about?” Ryan asks slowly, like he’s remembering how to speak. He yawns, and the way his head tips up makes his lips brush against Shane’s neck. He shivers. He doesn’t have an answer; he has a million answers; he wraps his arm over Ryan and pulls him closer and maybe that is an answer.

He rolls onto his side so that they’re facing each other and Ryan’s eyes (beautiful eyes) flutter open. “I was thinking about what you said last night,” Shane answers. Ryan seems like he’s going to pull away, realizing how close they are, and Shane is going to let him go, but then he blushes, remembering what he’d said just before falling asleep, and just ducks his head down. Shane can’t see his eyes from this angle and he lets his hand trail up Ryan’s arm and to his chin, tilts his head so that they’re face to face and looking directly at each other. “You don’t need to apologize, Ry. I’m scared too. Lately… I’m scared a lot.”

Ryan’s eyes are a question, and he does move to roll away then, onto his back but no further. “What are you afraid of?” he asks and Shane doesn’t have the words. The words die in his throat, join the legion of ghosts; every time he wants to say something he has to dig a new grave and buy new flowers and give the eulogy and it’s exhausting. Instead of answering, he tugs gently at Ryan’s shoulder. He rolls back, so they are facing each other again. Instead of answering, he dips his head in and presses his lips against Ryan’s, his heart hammering away in his chest.

Ryan goes still, for a second, and then like all the stress has been run right out of him he relaxes. Like it's the first time he's relaxed in months. He presses in closer and Shane drags him right along, until they're pressed together from lips to knees, until all the space between them is burned away by how hot the room has suddenly grown. The neutron stars, the binary system; just one, only one, together in heat and fire. A fire in the cold. They're still kissing when Ryan’s hand works it's way down Shane's arm from his shoulder to his elbow and down underneath to his hip. Fingers exploring, tiptoeing along the precipice and then diving down pressing insistent at his dick where it's hard against his stomach. Shane pulls his mouth away long enough to choke out half of a moan before Ryan chases him down and presses their lips together again. And then it slows, like the haze of summer afternoons, like the sun (still rising), and the sounds of the tv and the showers and all the other people fall away. Gentle caresses of lips against lips, teasing swipes of the tongue (and oh God the places Shane is imaging that tongue), delicate fingers traipsing up and down the length of him. Ryan pulls back inch by inch until he presses his hand against Shane's shoulder and pushes him onto his back, then he dives in quickly and all at once, pressing kisses to his collarbone and his solar plexus and his hip. Fingers tangled loosely in the waist of his shorts, fingers tugging slowly as they drop away. Shane's dick springing free and slapping up against his stomach.

Ryan wraps a hand around it and Shane gasps, “fuck, Ry-” but Ryan cuts him off, says, “do you know how many times I've thought about this?”

He doesn't know, but he can guess.

Then Ryan goes quiet, presses his hips down against the mattress, and watches with curiosity as his hand slides back and forth along the length of him. It's teasing, barely more than feather light, fist loose, slow and deliberate. He twists his hand on the upstroke. Shane groans. His thumb runs along the vein. Shane moans. His lips part and his tongue darts out, barely, just the tip, as he concentrates. Shane can’t concentrate. He can't watch (he has to) but he fights the urge to close his eyes. Something about Ryan's hand makes his dick look nicer, he thinks. He almost laughs at how absurd a thought it is, but then Ryan leans forward and teases the head of his cock with his tongue and nothing has ever been less funny.

Shane’s mouth is open, soundless huffs of air slipping out while Ryan teases him. “Jesus, Ryan,” he manages. Ryan pulls back, grins. He looks like he’s about to say something when he thinks better of it, presses a kiss to Shane’s hip again instead, and then his mouth slides down over his dick and Shane slams his eyes shut so hard he sees bright lights dancing in the darkness (stars, stars, stars dancing along in space. Alone but together.). He whimpers, and it drags a moan from Ryan’s throat where it’s stretched around him. He can’t take it, he won’t last. The teasing is over and Ryan is sliding down down down until he runs out of road, pulling back so agonizingly slow that Shane grips the blanket until his knuckles go white. Behind his eyes the blackness has turned white and he opens them (the sun is almost up, the show is still on in the background, the room is bathed in orange light) only to moan loud at the sight of Ryan between his thighs. His eyes are watering, barely, a single track runs down his cheek. His free hand has dipped into his sweats and is working himself slowly until their eyes meet. Ryan’s hand speeds up, furious; his cheeks hollow out as he sucks hard, his other hand slides up Shane’s leg and his fingertips just barely graze one of his balls before Shane sits up, folding over himself, and cums with a shout.

He collapses back and watches as Ryan’s arm jerks back and forth once, twice, and then Ryan’s eyes shut and he groans through his own orgasm. He slips down, laying back next to Shane and grimaces at the mess he’s made in his pants. Shane stares at the big, dark stain and licks his lips, wishes he could have returned the favor, but then his thoughts are interrupted by his phone screaming to life as the alarm sounds. He laughs, then, because now that it’s over it’s all kind of funny in a weird way, and Ryan joins him.

“Well,” Shane says, “guess I had nothing to be scared of after all.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, and then leans in to kiss him again, slow and gentle. They have two hours until their flight, anyway, so they can take their time.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the lovely abovetheruins.
> 
> Title from Goldfrapp - Tiptoe


End file.
